Untitled
by apocalypticangel47
Summary: A serial rapist is on the prowl in New York, and it's up to the team and a new comer to work things out. But is this case bigger than New York, and how is it connected to the newcomer?
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

"Monty, this is Detective Benson, Detective Munch, and-"

"Just call me Fin."

"...and Fin," Captain Cragen introduced. "This is Detective Monty Tyler from the GBI. She'll be helping us collar the I-85 rapist who showed up in New York a few days ago. Monty, brief us on this creep."

"He began his days along I-85 in Georgia, taking people from gas stations near the exit ramps. He'd use the highway to take victims to his hideaway, where he would rape them for many hours, sometimes days. Five of his victims died from their injuries, and there are some Georgian DA's who would love to get their hands on this guy."

"Why did he move north? Why would he get away from his comfort zone?" Detective Munch asked.

"He accidentally grabbed a former Klan member. Since this guy is black, according to his living victims, the remaining Klan members are ready to kill anyone who looks like him. There's two dead already, both innocent. The members that killed them have been charged, but you know as well as I do that the others will keep going until one of us gets this guy."

"But why New York? I know some men from the Klan who hang out up here," Fin said sternly.

"It's easy to hide out," Detective Benson whispered before I had a chance to reply. "All of the victims were found near industrial districts that have a lot of empty buildings thanks to the recession and outsourcing. He only strikes at night in low traffic, making his getaways quick and painless, unlike what he did to his victims. And just like in Georgia, we've got one dead. Until we catch this guy, it's more than innocent black men that are at risk."

"Fin and Olivia, go to the crime lab and start looking over the files Monty brought from Georgia. Start developing some patterns with this guy. Munch, take Monty up to Mercy where they've got the latest victim. He might be talking now," Cragen whispered.

"Cars are this way," Munch led. I followed him, looking around the busy precinct curiously. "Not this busy in Atlanta?"

"I was actually with the GBI, not a local precinct. But no, they were never this crazy. How many guys work here?"

"Not as many as there should be. We've had problems with our old building, and they're still in the process of moving people around. We're actually some of the first to get our desks back...or rather new desks to replace the ones we lost."

"Did you lose files?"

"Of course. Those were the first to get hit. Luckily our scanning crew is pretty on top of things. Everything was already scanned in before the room flooded, and the files that hadn't been scanned were in water-proof containers."

"Talk about lucky," I whispered, getting into the passenger side and fastening my seatbelt.

New York and I had never met before, and I'd never seen so many tall buildings in my life. But I knew in my heart that I had to team up with Special Victims on this case, mainly because this guy had made my life a living hell for the past three years.

I planned on making a permanent change in my life, which is something Cragen knew but didn't mention. I was in the process of leaving the GBI for a local job when I received word of connections in the NYC, and the choice was made for me. And since I had already sold my home, the move was pretty permanent: I had nowhere to go back to.

"I hope you had traffic where you are because it's a nightmare up here."

"I think it's worse down there, but I guess I'll find out won't I?" I smirked, watching taxis take up every available space with daring maneuvers. I definitely wasn't in Georgia anymore.

I was lucky to have old friends up here, and I was currently sleeping on their couch since their guest bedroom was now a nursery. But since the baby was due in two weeks, I had to find another place fast.

"Come on! You've got a whole lane! Why do you want mine?" Munch yelled. He immediately got on the guy's bumper, making me nervous. But I knew the sightseeing while we weren't busy was a better choice anyway, so I got back to looking at the shiny, tall buildings.

Atlanta did have its share of skyscrapers, but none this tall and wide. I'd been in a few in my day: once I captured a corporate murderer who felt killing off his competitors was better than out-bidding them, and another time I took down an elaborate drug smuggling ring being ran right above a bank that kept noticing a "strange white dust coming from the floor above." I looked forward to being inside one in New York, but I'd have time for that when the job was done.

"How much further?" I asked. Munch shrugged.

"Block-wise only about three, but this traffic is a nightmare. I say we'll be here another hour unless things don't clear up."

"Mind if I make a phone call?"

"No, go right ahead," he replied.

I pulled out my phone and hit "1," the number of a now former colleague of mine. She answered immediately.

"Find anything new?"

"There's more victims than I was told yesterday, but I expected that."

"He's still getting faster?"

"It looks that way. Their timeline shows about one every two days."

"Damn!" she hissed. "We've got bigger problems down here. Three more young black men are dead, none of them the guy. It's getting out of control, and we're petitioning the governor to bar the story from the news."

"Sounds like a good idea. Who killed them all? More Klansmen?"

"One was a woman who saw a man acting strange at a gas station. It turns out he was a mentally impaired young man who hung out there a lot. She is being charged, but her lawyers are trying an insanity defense. The other two were by the same Klansman, and he's been caught as well."

"If you need my signature on that petition, just fax it over. I have an account with the Kinkos on 88th and...I don't remember. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't put two that close together."

"You'd be surprised...," Munch muttered, inching the car forward maybe two feet before traffic stopped again.

"I'll look it up. Get your new friends to help you out if you can. We need all the help we can get."

"I'll try. Listen, could you deliver those flowers for me? It's all automatic: you just have to pick them up and take them there, and make sure you get the old ones too."

"I'll do that for you. I take you're near someone? You'd usually give a more detailed command than that."

"Yes. The less who know the less they can use it against me."

"You're still trying to get a job there?"

"The paperwork is in the system, but we'll see what happens. A lot of people are up for it, though mine is more..."

"Personal. I know. Listen, I've got to head out in a few minutes. I'll take care of the flowers on my way home tonight. And Monty? Don't forget to open up every once in a while. You can't just be in your own little world, especially with all that on your chest."

"I know, and I'll try to remember that. It'll be hard, but I'll do what I can."

"Good girl. See you later," she smiled, hanging up.

Munch eyed me carefully as we approached the reason for the traffic: a taxi and a limo ran into each other. He began trying to move into another lane quietly, but I knew he was wondering about my phone call.

His phone rang and he picked it up as we moved over and began to go at a normal speed again. "Yeah this is Munch," he said. He paused to listen, then put the phone on speaker.

"We just got a bulletin from Jersey. They have three cases like ours from about two weeks ago, which makes sense if he was travelling up the highway from the south using the coastal route. Olivia ran the system for more hits, and in his month off he raped fifteen people. Three of those are dead now."

"All along I-90?" I asked.

"Yeah. He even stopped off in DC to make a hit. She was a congresswoman from Idaho. This case just got a lot bigger than us."

"Should we still stop by Mercy?" Munch asked.

"You're not there yet? Damn traffic," Fin muttered. "The Captain is in a meeting, so stick to the plan unless we call you back."

"Can do. Keep us updated," Munch whispered.

"Will do," Fin replied, and the call was ended.

"I'll tell my friends to scratch that petition. It's probably all over the big news networks now."

"No doubt, especially if a congresswoman is one of the victims. What's with the deaths you mentioned? Something about the Klan?" "They killed two more men, and a woman killed another. They caught both of the perpetrators, but this is getting out of hand. And once the Klan finds out more are dead all the way up to New York, they're likely to retaliate further."

"I thought they were a little more low-key now days?"

"Depends on the situation. A few years back three black men killed a white woman for her car. The Klan was furious, especially when they heard she was tortured and raped. They found the men before the cops could. Let's just say interrogation was easy: they forced the men to record their story. It was allowed in court and the three are serving life. The Klansmen got some years themselves for kidnapping and torture. We'd never seen anything like it before."

"What is the world coming to?" he whispered, finding us a parking space and leading me to the victim's room, which was in the mental health wing of the hospital.

"Detective Munch?" a doctor called. The two shook hands and looked to me.

"Doctor, this is Detective Tyler from the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. She's helping us with the case, and the Captain asked me to bring her along. Is he talking yet?"

"Not a word. And you can't meet with him either: he tried to commit suicide again, so we have him in a special area of the ward. We've removed all garments and taped his fingernails to keep him from scratching himself. He's on full-monitoring, and we just can't risk him having another episode."

"What about his family? Where are they?" I asked.

"He's a divorced hermit," Munch whispered. "He has no friends, and he used to only leave his house once a night to buy one egg, one pint of milk, and he'd buy a loaf of bread every Friday. Now he'll probably never leave his house again, if he can ever leave here."

"But the ex is in contact with us. They have a daughter together and he had visitation rights. She can't remove them without his consent or a lawyer's. She's been hounding us trying to get in with him, but we've been successful at keeping her away so far."

"If anything changes, you have our number," Munch nodded. He and the doctor shook hands again.

"I take you and him are friends?" I asked. He nodded.

"We grew up near each other, so we had a lot of classes together in grade school. He went for a different career than I did though, and we only meet up in situations like this."

"That's a horrible way to meet up, but I get it," I whispered. He glanced at me as we took the elevator back to the car.

"I sense some baggage there. You have a personal reason for coming to SVU?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I murmured. He sighed and shifted his feet a little as the elevator stopped and let on more people.

"Having a personal connection to any of these cases always makes things harder. We've all had a case that reminded us of our own lives, or was from our own lives. I've had an uncle cross paths with a case and an ex-wife. It's never easy, but if you have a passion for it, you should pursue it."

We got back into the car and made our way back to the precinct. I never responded to him: I didn't want to give too much away.

Back at the office, we gathered in the captain's office for more news.

"After we discovered the number of other cases, I got a call from the FBI. They're taking over this case until further notice. All of our evidence, including what Monty brought from Georgia, is being handed over to them. They're going to keep us updated, and they'd like our cooperation if anything else comes up," Captain Cragen said quietly. "And after they said they'd keep us updated, they announced another victim, this time a child in Pennsylvania."

"He's just going to take a victim for every exit in America," Fin whispered, shaking his head.

"How's the man at Mercy doing?"

"Still not talking, and he's on suicide watch," Munch replied. Detective Benson sighed.

"Well we have other cases. Fin, you and Benson start running paperwork from that Jane Doe rape from two days ago. Munch, the backlog from last week. Monty, can I talk to you?" Cragen asked. The office cleared, leaving us alone. "My people like you, and this case was more for us than the GBI connections. They want you on a trial basis for about a month before they decide, but you've got a job. I'll take you over to headquarters for your paperwork and supplies."

I smiled and shook his hand, letting him lead me to the parking lot and to another police building. After I finished my paperwork, I was issued a badge, a uniform (which I'd only have to wear on proper occasions), a gun, and a can of pepper spray. I was allowed to keep my Taser thanks to proper licensing, and I was soon at a desk in SVU's area filling out paperwork like everyone else.

A/N: There is more to come, so be ready for updates soon! Also, if any readers have a deviantArt account, would you please follow the links on my profile and fave the story? Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

"We've got a case," Cragen announced. After two days of paperwork and tracking the I-Rapist (his new name), we had something workable. "Fin and Olivia, hit up the crime scene. Coordinates are on the print out. Munch and Tyler, the crime lab is your first stop on an unrelated case."

Munch led me to the crime lab, which was in the same building. He introduced me to the medical examiner, then we got right down to business.

"These are all pieces of evidence we're sending off with the FBI with the I-Rapist. I wanted you to see these, Tyler. I read your profile of him and gathered you could see certain things in the pattern from personal experience."

"You're right," I whispered, peering down at a piece of fabric. "That's a trademark. We've had instances of stolen bandanas near the I-85 exits in Atlanta. He tears off a piece and leaves it with his victims, but only the living ones. The dead ones get this: a coin from 1987, which we assume is his birth-year."

"But since that's a lot of people, you haven't been able to use that?" the doctor asked. I nodded, picking up a bag containing a necklace.

"This is his," I whispered. "The living victims from the summer saw it on him. Now that it's colder, he covered it up with clothes, but I guess they ripped it off of him."

"The man at Mercy did. His fingernail got caught in the chain right here. That's a homemade fix, and a bad one at that. But he knew how to weld: the chemicals around it match those that a welder would use. The problem is how small this chain is, and the metal it is. He compromised its strength when he used this method."

"Did this method use...a blowtorch by chance?" I said quietly, clearing my throat at the pause. She nodded.

"I think so at least. I'm not a welder and I don't know any. Why do you ask?"

"There was a case a few years back with a...blowtorch branding. Excuse me, do you have some water?" I croaked, clearing my throat a few times. She pointed to the hallway's water fountain and I grabbed a few sips, catching my breath. I returned to see her packing up the goods.

"If the branding was poor, I'd say this is the same guy. He couldn't keep it straight, and most of the links around the repair were damaged as well, not just from where it broke when he pulled. And if that branding involved a rape, then it's definitely your guy."

I nodded and Munch led me back to the office, where we were immediately sent to a local hospital to interview a victim.

"Still adjusting to this New York air?" Munch asked once we were in the car.

"I guess," I whispered. He glanced at me.

"Listen, you need to tell someone about that connection, maybe your friends back home?"

"The one I called is off today, so I'll call tomorrow," I said quietly. I felt like he was prying, and I wished he would change the subject. But he didn't.

"We have an FBI agent who works with us to profile these creeps. You should talk to him about that case and see what he comes up with."

"Munch, I can't," I said sternly.

"Why not?"

"I wasn't allowed to investigate it. Everything I know is hearsay."

"It doesn't matter. It's not official, and the man knows how to testify properly to avoid mentioning that connection, if they use him."

"I just can't," I said quietly, turning my head to look out the window.

"Listen, I know I'm being a bit of an ass in pushing you, but this is important. If you come up with a lead, you need to pursue it, whether it hurts or not."

"You don't know why I'm avoiding it. Avoidance and personal don't have to go together."

"But it usually does in this business," he whispered, stopping at a red light. He looked over to me. "I gather from your still being here that this is a permanent-type thing. And since Cragen keeps sending us out together, it must be my job to teach you the ropes. Take my advice and use it, okay? If you don't, I'll ask him to put me with someone else, which he won't like doing because he'll know there's a reason."

"Fine, I'll talk to whomever. But do not push it any further okay? It's not your problem."

"Rule one of this job: your problems are everyone's problem. Do you know how many terrible dates I've had to endure because Fin keeps setting me up with people? Too many, and it's fine because I know he's just being a good friend. Just like with your people back home, we're all friends here, and we like things best when everyone gets along."

"I'll try to remember that, but...I'm entitled to secrets."

"Is that why you picked New York?"

"New York was picked for me. My decision to stay had nothing to do with that," I replied sternly. He shrugged, pulling into a parking space and walking beside me into the hospital.

"I'm looking for Dana Rivera," he told the desk clerk, flashing his badge. She nodded and gave us a room number.

Once there, we went in together.

Dana was laying on the bed and a man was stroking her hand.

"Miss Rivera?" Munch asked.

"Misses," she replied. "This is my husband, Clark."

"I came in as soon as I heard. Are you going to catch the bastard that did this to my wife?"

"Sir, we're going to do what we can, but first we need to talk to your wife. Ma'am, can you tell me what happened?" I asked, taking over in a sort.

"I was walking from my work to a news stand. I've been reading up on that interstate rapist for weeks because he raped my cousin in North Carolina. Right after I paid the man, I started walking back to the office, but he grabbed me and pulled me into an alley. He gagged me so I couldn't scream, and...he raped me!" she sobbed. I sat on the edge of her bed and took her free hand.

"What can you tell me about him?"

"He kept saying things about the interstate guy, like 'I know you've been reading up on him. Bet this is what he does'," she cried, barely able to breathe.

"Come on, detective, stop asking her these questions!" her husband yelled. She touched his arm.

"They need to know so they can catch him," she choked. A nurse came into the room, and I realized one of her machines was beeping. She was immediately given oxygen.

"Detectives, give her a ten minute break," she ordered, pushing us out of the room.

Detective Munch led me to the end of a hallway.

"Good work in there. What do we know?" Munch asked just like a teacher would. I ignored his tone.

"Either we have a copycat out there who's a little too vocal, or someone is targeting people who are too into this case, meaning they either feel a connection to the rapist or they have one."

"You think there could be a copycat?" Munch asked. I nodded sternly.

"It's all over the news, including many details of his crimes. It'd be no problem to follow his path and rape people. Hell, some of the victims we have listed could be from a copycat. This case is just that known."

"You're going a great job in there, but wait until I finish this phone call to go back in," Munch said sternly, walking into a waiting room that was empty.

I picked my own phone from my pocket and dialed my friends back home. She immediately answered.

"How connected are you with the FBI's investigation?" I asked.

"Wait, I thought you were off that case?"

"We are, but something just came up. How connected are you?"

"Because we're the originals so far, there are agents everywhere. They aren't really saying much to us, but we're probably more informed than you are."

"Has anything come up out of the ordinary, such as a case that doesn't fit or something of that nature?"

"There was one case with some missing items, but it was near the Chattahoochee. The victim was found right on shore and they assumed some of the items got blown into the water and carried away."

"Just that one?" I asked.

"Here at least, but...there was one in North Carolina on dry land that missing some things."

"Send the details to the number I'm about to text you," I said sternly.

"Can we do that?"

"I don't know but we're going to," I whispered.

The call ended just as Munch appeared.

"The theory is good. Warner just got three cases back that don't fit the bill. Call your people and see if they've had the same thing happen."

"Just did. She knows of one in North Carolina and she's faxing over the details right now."

"Fin and Olivia are on it, so let's finish up here," Munch whispered, leading me back to the room. The nurse ushered us in and we resumed questioning.

"Did he do anything strange, such as try to put something in your pocket?" I questioned.

"No. He just kept talking about the interstate rapist and how the news got it all wrong about something."

"About what?" Munch asked.

"I...I can't remember. So much was happening at once..."

"We understand," I said calmly. "I'm going to leave you with this card. If you think of anything, you need to call us. And thank you for your cooperation. We understand how hard this must be for you."

We left the room, but her husband followed us.

"Could it be the interstate guy? Could he have gone after both my wife and her cousin?"

"We don't know," Munch replied. "But we'll investigate this along with the FBI to find out. They've been made aware of the connection, so you might end up talking to one of their agents as well."

"Anything. Thank you officers," he said quickly, going back to his wife's side at a quick pace.

"Let's head back and see what we can find," Munch whispered, leading me back to the car and the precinct. 


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

"The cases are different, but they're definitely copies of the originals. The usage of a red fabric instead of a bandana is one similarity, but also how he treated the victims. Whoever committed the rapes studied the originals very carefully," Dr. Huang explained.

"But how could he get enough information to match them so well? We were convinced they were the same," Detective Benson questioned.

"The media is exploiting the cases," I replied. "Before we found out the FBI would handle the case, my colleagues at the GBI were gathering a petition to bar it from the media, but it was too late. They've been giving out a lot of the details, such as the red cloth and his favorite spots. The rape and torture are the only things they didn't explain in full detail."

"Can they really do that? What if some kid hears all that on the five o'clock news and tries to do it too?" Fin asked.

"It's much more complicated than that," Dr. Huang replied. "Your copycat sees the fame this man is getting. I'd say he's likely a very lonely, unpopular man who would give anything to be noticed. He's meticulous and calculating, and I'd say he probably has the traits of a perfectionist. If the cloth was a bandana, I'd have no problem saying they were committed by the same man, mostly because all of the details are in place, including how he cut the material."

"How could you know that?" Munch asked.

"Your rapist is left-handed. The stab wounds on the first murder victim in Atlanta are turned in such a way that it's obvious the knife was held by a leftie. The cloth is the same way: it's always cut upside down to us because he flipped it to get a better angle for his dominant hand. This cloth is the same way."

"How would he know if they guy's left handed? Those photos should be sealed," Fin said sternly.

"But some of them aren't. They released them to get an idea of who the guy could be. That picture was shown on a metro Atlanta news station asking parents to see if their kids had any chopped up bandanas in their room. The media has turned this into a circus, and it's not over yet," I replied.

"What are we to do with these copycat cases? We can't just throw their victims under the bus because they took the wrong highway," Munch said sarcastically.

"The FBI has only found five, all in the New York area. And I got the fax from Monty's friends at the GBI, so we also know of another one in North Carolina. Fin, did you find any more?" Benson asked.

"One in Maryland, but they've ruled it a hoax. The woman was in a psychotic state when she reported it and none of the signature pieces were there."

"The ones here are priority, but I want Tyler to contact the North Carolina precinct for more information. Everyone else review these cases and find some patterns. Work fast: the media is definitely against us on this one," Cragen commanded.

I was assigned the desk beside Munch's, where my fax from Leslie at the GBI sat. I read over it, looking for any details I could. I made a list of them before calling the sheriff who received the case. He immediately forwarded me to the state trooper who found the victim, a young man who was considered lucky to be alive.

"What can you tell me about the scene?" I asked.

"There's a rest stop between here and Ashville, and that's where he was grabbed. There was a struggle from the building housing the restrooms all the way to the man's car, where the man forced him to drive three exits south to an empty motel. Once there, he raped him, threatened his life, then left inside another car that must've showed up afterwards or was hidden at the scene."

"You can't tell if it was hidden at the scene?"

"Ma'am, I'll be honest with you: we didn't have the resources to process the scene. I will gladly have the sheriff sign off jurisdiction to you and your people, but I can't do anything with what I have. I'd hurry though: the scene is already a week old."

"I'll talk with my superiors and get back to you within the next few hours."

I immediately went to Cragen's door. He waved me into his office.

"What've you got?"

"The people in North Carolina couldn't process the scene properly. They're willing to sign over jurisdiction to us if we can handle it better."

"What's at risk here?"

"Well, it's the oldest case. The perp might've made a mistake or left vital clues behind. Finding them before they can die away is a priority, especially if this is the copycat attacking here. And any details you can gather could help you profile this guy even if he didn't give himself away."

"I'm willing to do it if you're willing to go and process the scene yourself."

"I'm trained to do that, but I can't do it alone," I replied. He nodded and stood from his desk. He knocked on the glass and signaled to one of them. Munch stood and came into the office.

"What is it, Captain?"

"You and Tyler are going to North Carolina. Monty, get the details worked out so you can get on the road as soon as possible. Munch, I'm calling the crime lab now and asking them to loan you any extra equipment. You are going to help Monty process the scene."

And with that the wheels were in motion for me to return close to home again in search of a rapist. After a quick phone call and some car swapping, Munch and I were on our way, the Big Apple fading behind us. 


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

"I can't take this silence anymore: I'm turning on some music," Munch said quietly from the passenger's side, flipping on the radio and running through the channels. He stopped on a jazz station. "You like jazz?"

"I've never really listened to it, but I agree that this silence is murder."

"Didn't you drive up here?" Munch asked. I nodded.

"I only stopped three times the whole way for gas, emptying, and fill-ups. But I had a nice stash of CD's. I didn't pick any up, but I'm having my friend bring me some clothes."

"Why didn't you go home and pick things up like I did?" he asked. His bag was in the trunk, two of them to be exact. I had only my purse, a tiny clutch with an empty pack of gum, ten cents in pennies, my wallet, and my cell phone charger.

"There was nothing to get. My package was returned back home that had all of my clothes, so I've been living off my friend's clothes for a week. Leslie is going to South Carolina for a convention tomorrow, and she'll bring it to our hotel once she can."

"What's Leslie like?"

"Pure diva, but a hard-ass type, the perfect lady for crime fighting. She cries if she breaks a nail, but she once bit a perp s pinkie off when he attacked her from behind. She's tough, but I've used that. We've been friends since school."

"Is that where you learned how to process a crime scene?" Munch asked. I nodded.

"I've processed over a hundred in my career too. I was very valuable in my force for being able to do that on my own, but I always had Leslie to help me out. She had a good eye in case I missed anything, and I'm hoping you do too."

"You tend to miss things?"

"No, I tend to over focus, which causes me to take too much time. We don't have time to waste. That's why I kind of wished we had a ticket to Hartsfield-Jackson rather than a rent-a-car deal and an overnight drive. I can do it, which is why you should sleep soon, but it's not ideal in a crunch."

"The jazz will probably ease me into a slumber. Will it put you to sleep too?" he asked. I listened to the music some and shook my head.

"This one seems to have a good baseline, which I like. It wakes me up."

"Well it pulls me down. Dammit, I left my pillow in my bag. Can I borrow your jacket?" he asked. I nodded, pulling it from behind my back and handing it to him. I moved up my seat to compensate and got back up to speed, an even eighty.

Munch was soon snoring, blending into the sounds of the open road. I wondered how many people felt just as peaceful as I did on this trip only to have one of the rapists strike. The North Carolina victim only had to use the restroom on the way to a friend's house, and now he has permanent damage from a brutal rape. I knew even he felt at peace before then: even men found things calming at times. For Munch it must've been a thumping base, but for Sean it was the sunshine.

I felt the car swerve when I first thought of Sean, and Munch was awakened. He was soon back asleep without question, which was good because I felt the tears on my cheeks. Despite there being years behind me since his rape and murder, it was still raw, tearing at my insides to even mention his name in my thoughts, let alone aloud. Leslie understood that: she was always so loyal to me through everything, even though she processed the scene herself.

Leslie was also understanding of my traditions. I sent Sean flowers once a week, always whatever was in season. I told the florist to go wild, staying within a fifty-dollar budget of course. I usually delivered the flowers myself, using the time of changing them out to talk to Sean and clear away any debris from his grave. But I also updated him on his case, when I had news. If I had the time, I wanted to update him again, but I knew that having Munch nearby would hinder this.

He was right: I was running from Georgia, but only because I was mad at her for producing such a vile citizen. My husband was my soul mate: I still dreamed of him nightly. But another native Georgian took him from me in her own backyard, and I was still angry. I was also scared: what if it happened again? What if I was working a case and found another one just like it? Leslie told me everything about what she found, and I could still picture every mark on his body when I was asked to identify him.

The car jerked again, waking up Munch. This time he noticed my tears, which I quickly tried to wipe away.

"What's wrong? Did you hit something?" he asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," I replied, my voice not cooperating with me.

"Are you sure I don't need to drive?"

"I'm fine. Go back to sleep," I hissed. I shouldn't have been so sharp, but it worked. Munch turned up the music and readjusted my jacket.

Sean, I can't think about you right now, I thought. I loved him, but it hurt so much to know I could say his name in my mind, but that's the only place I could actually see him. His pictures were still there, all in a storage unit I was renting until I could find a place to live. I still kept one in my breast pocket, just like he did for me. I felt its corner nudging my breast through my shirt, but I quickly pushed it from my mind. I needed to calm down and drive: another victim depended on it.

The phone rang not a minute after I stopped crying, waking up Munch again. I answered the call, which was from Leslie.

"I have an update for you about the North Carolina case," she said without a "hello."

"At eleven at night? Out with it then: we need to know."

"The victim is related to one of the first back here, the third one to be exact. He's the second cousin of the man, but I remember that detail from your case there."

"So it's a family relation detail?"

"It appears that way. Check the others and text me back," Leslie said quickly, hanging up before I could respond. I noticed Munch was awake and listening intently.

"Would anyone be at the precinct?" I asked.

"Maybe Olivia. Why?"

"Our victim from today was a cousin of a previous and real victim, and the victim we're going to check out is a cousin of another victim."

"But he's the only victim in North Carolina and that's where her cousin was from," Munch replied. "I'll call and see if anyone can check out the others. This might take a while though."

"I'm just happy to know it," I whispered, responding to Leslie via text. She quickly sent one back.

**Glad to hear. We have a situation here, and that's why I'm out so late. Another man was found like Sean, but the perp left a piece of cloth like the copycat. I think it's the same guy: find details to confirm plz.**

Munch nearly had a heart attack as I slammed on the brakes, breathing heavily and trying to ignore what I'd just read. I felt Munch put the car into park and I saw the emergency lights blinking beside the car.

"Monty? Monty, are you okay? No, she just stopped the car. How am I supposed to know what's wrong? Monty! Monty!" Munch called, tapping my shoulder. I began to come to and brushed him away. "Call me back when you get there and find something," he said into the phone, closing it and tapping my shoulder again. "Are you okay?"

"Just give me a minute," I whispered. I closed my phone and put my head on the steering wheel. Munch turned off the radio, and my heavy breathing is the only sound the filled the car.

After ten minutes, I felt well enough to drive again, but Munch refused it. He got out of the car and refused to get back in until we switched sides. I wanted to move, so we had no choice.

A few minutes into driving, his phone rang. He put the phone on speaker to answer it.

"All of the hits are related in some way, except one. Elizabeth Carlisle, the woman from Queens, doesn't fit with any of the previous victims. She had the fake calling card at the scene, though she was the only one who was tortured with cigarettes or cigars."

"How big are the marks approximately?" I whispered.

"Fairly large. I'd say larger than a cigar, but still circular," Benson replied. I felt my chest tighten.

"Those are blow torch marks. I need to call Leslie at the GBI: they just found another blow torch victim," I said quietly. "Munch, do you mind pulling over?"

"I thought you wanted to go."

"Please, just pull over," I said sternly. "Detective Benson, could you fax that file to the number that sent me the North Carolina information? Thanks," I said quickly, getting out of the car and closing the door behind me. I fumbled my phone in an attempt to call Leslie.

"Detective Tremwell," she answered, which meant she was still at the scene.

"Put Sean down as one of the first victims," I whispered.

"Hey, Smith! I need to take this!" Leslie called. The wind coming from the other end told me she was running. "What makes you think that?"

"He went after another victim in New York the same way, and even though I don't recognize the name, I bet she's related to him. She's the only one who's not related to a real victim, and she died the same way as Sean."

"Honey, you can't know that for sure."

"It must be true: he tortured her using a blowtorch, just like he did with Sean. But the copycat left a calling card on her, something the real guy might not've done with Sean, or else it was lost at the scene."

"Listen, you need to drop this case. You could jeopardize anything you find in North Carolina, and the case in general. Turn back now."

"I can't do that," I whispered.

"Monty, you'll compromise the case! Don't do that to Sean or the other victims for personal gain."

"Leslie, I need to do my job. My partner is waiting for me; I need to go."

"Fine, but I didn't hear any of this," she whispered, ending the call.

Munch started driving as soon as I got into the car, but soon he was talking.

"Monty, I know you've got some personal things going on, but if you don't start talking to me, I'm turning back the next exit. I mean it: there's the lights for it right there. Don't make me do it," Munch said sternly. I sat there without speaking, and he took the exit ramp just like he said. He stopped at the top, despite a quick green light, and looked over at me. "Talk to me or we're going back, and I'll tell Cragen what happened. Benson will back me up and you'll never touch another New York case."

"I...I can't," I whispered.

"Then we're turning back," he said sternly, moving the car forward.

"Fine! But you will not hear everything."

"I'll decide that. Start talking," he replied. A car honked behind us and we moved to a shopping center's parking lot. I sighed as he put the car into park. I sat back in my seat and looked out the window.

"I was widowed a few years ago. My husband was attacked near his work, and...he didn't survive his injuries. Leslie was assigned his case, but they haven't found his killer and there are no leads...until now, but I am not talking about that."

"Why not?" he asked. I knew to be cautious, but I also decided to speak my mind.

"I want to work this case, but I can't if there are family connections. If that woman in New York was related to him, it counts for that. She's a victim of the copycat, meaning this North Carolina victim could be looped into the personal thing, and my working the case could jeopardize it."

"If you didn't know she was related to him, I don't see the problem. You don't have a personal connection to her, only him. And what if his death isn't even related to any of this?" he asked. I felt my chest tighten, and a small whimper came out. "He's one of the original victims isn't he?"

"We don't know, or at least I don't. Leslie would be the only one who could determine that because she processed the scene. She's busy with another murder, same type but with the fake calling card," I whispered.

"You know this for sure?"

"She texted me about the case. He was found just like Sean, but she needs confirmation to connect everything. I just called her but there's nothing new."

"Listen to me: we're going to work this like you had no idea," Munch whispered. I glanced over at him quietly and saw him nod. "If they make the connection between all of these people and call you off the case, we'll hold our bluff and drive back to New York. But there is a condition: don't lie to me. Don't hide things from me either that are important. You don't need to pour your heart out to me, but keep me in the loop. That's what partners do," he said sternly.

"I know that's what partners do, but I'm still on a trial period. I don't want my job to be in jeopardy because my partner finds out I'm mentally unstable."

"Well you nearly pulled that card yourself. Olivia will probably call back and I'll tell her you were ill, but I can't cover for you if you don't cover for yourself," he whispered, pulling back onto the main road.

"I don't want anyone to know about him, okay? You need to promise me you'll stay quiet."

"I promise, but if I know you've opened the door and I'm asked to go through it, I can't hesitate. I love my job, and I won't lose it to a newcomer," he said sternly, pushing the car up to seventy as we entered the highway. Soon he was back up to eighty and the music was back on. Hopefully our trip would stay on as well.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

North Carolina was finally under our wheels, and Munch had finally stopped snoring. After a few switches, a quick bite to eat in southern Virginia, and a tank of gas there as well, we were within twenty miles of our victim. The state trooper already had him lined up for questioning, but the abandoned motel was our first stop.

The radio hissed as went from static to music for the first time in two hours. Country music blared through the speakers. Munch turned down the volume, but I turned it off.

"I've always wanted to hear southern music in the great South," Munch grinned.

"Too many memories," I murmured. He nodded, looking out the window quietly.

Soon we were in a nearly dead neighborhood where the motel stood. We parked along the street and immediately started looking for clues, a state trooper watching our backs as we combed thick brush for clues.

We picked up everything, though the empty condom wrappers and beer cans were probably from wild teenagers rather than from our rapist. Pictures were snapped of everything, and Munch was great with a camera.

Soon we were inside the rooms doing the same thing, and before noon (four hours after we started), we were separated trying to find a place for a hidden car. For well over an hour, we braved tick-infested brush with a determined gaze, but soon our tiredness and hunger pulled us from the scene, and we followed the state trooper to a local diner. Munch and I were left alone (literally: it was just us, the cashier/waitress, and the cook), and we quickly received the blue-plate special before holing up in a corner booth.

"Be glad you didn't get the sweet tea," I whispered. I felt the cashier's eyes hit the back of my neck. "It's so addicting, you'd be having to tap into my gallon at home. You can't even find the bags to brew it in New York, so Leslie sends me some in a care package. I'm glad she does too," I smiled. Munch nodded, eyeing the place carefully.

"Where exactly are you from?"

"A town bigger than this apparently, but it has the same feel. We followed our classmates through the grades, and we worked with them when we finished at the local community college. But I wanted more, so I went to college in another town for criminal justice. I met Leslie and...him while I was there. Leslie always wanted to be an FBI agent, but she settled for GBI when she saw how hard it was to get in. I followed her, mostly because I wanted the thrill, but also because I wanted to help solve murders like the guys on TV."

"It's never the same is it?" he asked. I shook my head.

"My first case was a murder-suicide in a house with seven kids, all of whom watched their dad get drunk, call their mother a fat whore because she was pregnant by him again, and shoot her in the back when she tried to call her mom to rescue her. He killed himself ten minutes later when he was done with the kids. You never forget something like that, and you'll never see it on television."

"I didn't know Georgia had such brutal crimes."

"They do, and I usually deal with crime-related deaths, the domestic ones still rattle me the most. But the rapes really grabbed me, especially when children were involved. In one case, a man raped his wife in front of his three children. He literally taped them to their chairs and made them watch. He did this for two years before the oldest raped a woman in Colorado. We picked up the case from them because he admitted he learned from his father. We received a warrant that very day, and we walked in on him that night."

"So that's how you know special victims was for you?" he asked. I looked up at him, slowly chewing my fried chicken. "Sorry, I won't pry again."

"Thanks," I whispered.

Munch's phone rang and he answered it quickly. He soon had it on speakerphone for both of us to hear, but he turned down the volume to keep the other two from hearing it.

"Olivia found a hit in Georgia when she finished her family search this morning. She said it's the same as the I-rapist, but it isn't listed with his crimes. She's working with the FBI and GBI to figure out what to do next. I'm calling because it's connected with Tyler. Cragen wants you to finish up in North Carolina, but he wants Munch to do it. You got that Tyler?" Fin explained.

"Yeah," I whispered.

"I'll go interview the victim while Monty keeps our hotel room in our names. We'll head back tomorrow, or does Cragen want us to wait for reinforcements?"

"Just wait it out when you're done. We've been busy trying to process everything today, so he hasn't had time to work things out."

Munch ended the call and looked up to me quietly.

"Does all of that work for you?" he asked. I nodded, wiping my fingers on my napkin. "Call the hotel and let them know you'll be there soon. I'll drop you off on the way to the police station in Ashville."

I sipped my tea quietly, looking around the restaurant. It brought back some memories of my childhood, namely our drives through the countryside on a sunny day. But our day was turning sour, and Munch knew it.

"I'm almost tempted to break protocol and send you back to that motel with the state trooper. There's got to be somewhere near there where a car could be hidden."

"I agree with you, but I'm off the case. Do you have a plan?"

"A devious one. I'll have him follow us to the hotel, and you can go inside and confirm our rooms. Go up to ours, dropping off my bags, then head out a back exit and meet him outside. Have him do the digging: you just follow."

"Sounds alright with me. Call him from their phone over there. Be charming: Southern women love that stuff," I grinned.

Munch stood and worked his magic, securing the phone call and getting the trooper back. After a cleanup and a bathroom break, he was outside, and we were on our way to the hotel.

The first problem came once Munch left. Because of a festival in town and poor planning, he and I lost our separate rooms, and no rooms with two twin beds were available. So I secured one with the largest bed they have, seeing no other options.

I dropped off his bags upstairs, then I went out a side exit near the bottom of the stairs. The trooper took me back to the abandoned motel, where we found an interesting sight.

Several cars were in the overgrown parking lot, all police and FBI. The trooper left me in the car while he spoke to them, then he gave their message to me.

"They got another body in Georgia that had ties to this victim. I told them you two were here earlier, and they want your findings. They can't find anything useful right now, so they want some guidance too."

"Have them look for a place where a car could hide, and maybe a trail the perp could've used leading to another property. The things we found are with Munch, and I'll have him keep them until he's done with the interview."

"That won't be necessary," Munch called, pulling in beside us. "The FBI locked me out, so we're back at square one. Cragen wants us to go get some rest at the hotel, and I'm praying they have cable."

"Thanks for everything, officer," I nodded, getting into the car with Munch.

In the parking lot of the hotel, I told him the news. He sighed lightly but cocked his head a little.

"Hope you like my snoring," he grinned. I smirked and led him to the room.

Once he was settled and unpacked, we went out for dinner, stopping by a small store on the way back for some personal supplies (clothes and hygiene for me, random DVD's for him since the cable was out in the room). After introducing him to the beauty of a fried, Southern-style fruit pie, we returned to the room.

I changed into my new pajamas in the bathroom, and I called Leslie. She had some information on the new body, some of which surprised me.

"It wasn't the rapist like our shooter hoped, but this guy has been keeping up with him for weeks. A huge binder was in his backseat filled with newspaper clippings. The interesting part was a folder of hearsay clippings, one from North Carolina and another from your hometown. Either we've got a leak, or these reporters are getting better leads than we are."

"I take it mentioned more North Carolina evidence and the connections with Sean to the others?" I asked. She gave an approving sound.

"And it gets worse: they found another victim today in Ohio. He's going to wrap all the way around the continental US if no one stops him. And since the last two were rape/homicides, the danger is rising."

"Anything more about the copycat?" I asked. She sighed, and I could hear her flipping paper.

"The FBI hasn't picked up that case yet, but your guys in New York are doing a damn fine job cracking down on these leads. They're using the FBI like pawns, and it is a beautiful sight. Your name and another strange one sat beside a North Carolina lead, which I hear is now wrapped in the FBI's tape. I hope you're the only ones that find anything just to keep that copycat in your hands."

"I might still be off the case."

"What? You didn't mention this," she grinned. "Your partner at least knew didn't he?" she asked. I heard him fumbling with the DVD player outside.

"He made me tell him some details, but it was him being sneaky this afternoon. I don't know what to think of him right now, but I'm guessing I can trust him."

"I hope you can. After having a partner like me you'll need some extra backup. Listen, I've still got that package for you, and I'm really hoping you find somewhere permanent before you head back."

"I'm hoping I get to go see Sean's grave before I go back, just to say goodbye. Will you keep putting flowers out for him?"

"Of course, dear. He was a great man, and seeing him have all those beautiful flowers makes me feel so wonderful. Your florist is a genius by the way. How'd you pick him?" she asked.

I heard some crashing outside and peeked outside.

"It's okay, just battling the beast," Munch called, picking up the obviously defected DVD player and setting it down. He flipped back to the broken cable and tried to find a semi-clear channel.

"Sean used him all the time while we were dating. He does sculptures too apparently, though Sean was afraid to admit that for a while," I replied after closing the door. "And they did the flowers at our wedding reception, though Mother insisted on letting her guy do the wedding. Just between the three of us, the bouquet was a hand-picked selection and creation between Sean and the florist."

"It looked beautiful," she smiled. "If you can't come down here, I'll do what I can to help you out, okay? You go do whatever it is you do, and try to get some rest. It's been a rough day, and I'm sure there's more to come."

I ended the call and returned to our room. Munch had picked the side closest to the bathroom, leaving me with the other. This was fine and actually my preferred spot, until the sunset glared onto the already snowy TV. I fixed it, but I stayed nearby to look at some books the room had.

"Fin called while you were in the bathroom," Munch called, sitting up a little and muting the television. "He and Olivia want to talk to you in the morning about your husband, just to see if there's any connections. Cragen is a little upset that you didn't know, per say, but he has been too busy to say much. I told Fin you didn't even know they were related, which I assume is the truth."

"It is," I whispered. "If she's related to him it's distant. I don't recall the name from anywhere, and none of his immediate sisters, aunts, or cousins have been married recently for a name change. The man's name here is unknown to me too."

"Luckily he wasn't killed the same way, but he still nearly died. I can see you're obviously clueless about these connections, but you need to think of anything that could be of use to this investigation to save both our asses."

"All of my things relating to my husband are back in Georgia. I still haven't looked at pictures from his funeral to see if anything comes up, but I still haven't seen a good picture of the victims before the attacks either," I whispered. He nodded, going to his bags and pulling out a file. He sat beside me at the window side table and showed them to me. I didn't recognize either one. "I wish I had more, but I guess I'll have to get those pictures. If Cragen doesn't send us anywhere we can do that tomorrow. It's only a few hours away."

"As long as 'tomorrow' doesn't mean 'tonight,' I'll be a happy man," Munch grinned, closing the file and putting it away. "And just between us, you should tell them about your husband when you get a chance. They've already read the files and stories about him, and they're helping your friend Leslie to get him looped with the originals, but they're worried about you, especially Olivia."

"I'll try, but...it's hard to talk about someone you loved so much that was taken in such a way. It's hard to simply live without him, let alone discuss how he was taken. Tell them that if you can. Tell them I'll try, but nothing is a guarantee," I said quietly. He nodded, heading into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

I managed to get the DVD working while he was gone, and I settled into bed while watching the previews from a few years back. One was the last movie Sean took me to see, and I felt myself breaking down. I pushed further into the covers and turned off my bedside lamp. I tried to cry quietly and keep my face hidden, and Munch didn't seem to notice it when he returned. He simply thanked me for getting it working and hit "play."

After some listening, I discovered it was the movie Sean took me to. The preview must've been added in towards the end. I raised up and looked blankly at the screen.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Put it the other one," I said hoarsely.

"What? I couldn't understand you."

"Turn it off. Put on the other one," I said sternly. He hit pause and looked at the other title.

"Before I do that, is this one okay?" he asked. I nodded, helping him switch them out. I realized my face was still a little messed up about the time I did this. Munch noticed, but he didn't say anything until he sat back down on the bed. "Monty, are you sure you can handle everything?" he asked. I shrugged lightly. "You need to talk to someone, either a therapist or a friend. It'll help. I talked to a therapist after I divorced a few times, and he helped me out, especially in the nastier ones. I'd give you his number but he only covers those."

"I'll think about it," I whispered, watching him settle in and hit play.

I fell asleep to the movie, regretting the nightmare-filled sleep I received after. I know I probably disturbed Munch, but I had already proved I needed "help." One bad night's sleep wasn't going to change his mind, and I knew to start expecting a rejection from the unit within the next few weeks...unless he kept quiet. I hoped he would as I tried my best to ease my tiredness without adding to his. 


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

"Wake up, it's Cragen," Munch whispered, nudging my arm. I raised up and turned on my lamp, trying my best to look sleepy.

"Tyler you up yet?" he asked.

"Yes Sir," I replied.

"Good. You're going to have a hard day today, but it's for this investigation, so try your best to cooperate. I want you to take Munch to wherever your things are about your husband. I want you both to look through and try to find out who these people are and how they're related to him. Be fast about this, but be thorough."

"I can do that," I whispered. "Do you want us to secure a room near or in my hometown once we're there?"

"If you don't have somewhere you two can work in peace, then please do. You're both out of North Carolina, so check out there when you're both alert enough to leave. Keep me posted about anything you find," Cragen commanded, ending the call.

Munch and I prepared silently, quickly packing up what few things we had and heading out to our car. I checked out while Munch loaded everything, and soon I was driving us south, or west rather.

"Why this route? This road went south," Munch asked.

"I know these roads. If we head west, it'll be a straight shot south. We'll have to go this direction anyway, and this is the best, and most beautiful route."

"Well does it have a place we could get some breakfast?"

"At three in the morning? Not to my knowledge. Even the stores are probably closed, so I hope that water can fill you up," I replied. Munch then began fumbling with the radio, but he soon turned it off. We were in mountain territory, taking some scary roads at a little faster than we should. Munch's hands were in the nearest holds while both of mine gripped the wheel as hard as they could. My concentration was up, and I knew that wildlife was another issue at hand. After some near misses with a few, we finally made it out of the mountains and to semi-open road. Munch released his grip, and I handed him a napkin to wipe his forehead.

"Never done that, huh?" I grinned. He shook his head. "It was a treat in my house, though I never actually drove these roads until Leslie and I started taking trips with our boyfriends. She got us stuck around here once. There's a guardrail there now, but there wasn't when we went over. Don't worry, it wasn't a long drop, and none of us were hurt."

"Good to know," he whispered. We were soon in a small town in Tennessee that had a healthy truck population, which meant open restaurants. We snagged a biscuit and some caffeine (coffee for him, sweet tea for me) and hit the road with our finds, and a CD of 70's rock music that Munch picked up.

"I don't want to hear anything if you take that car over the edge," he whispered in the car. I grinned and pulled back onto the highway. Around sunset, we entered Georgia via more back roads. Munch was a little irritated by this, but he knew to trust me. It was kind of nice not having a man poke into my navigating since Sean and I argued about it all the time. We usually rode with someone to travel, or took another means, if we wanted to go somewhere. We both hated arguing, though the make-ups were always good. He was always the gentleman, handing in flowers, chocolates, and a cute guilty face whenever he was wrong...or told me he was when he was really right.

"What's so funny?" Munch asked.

"I didn't realize I was laughing," I replied, looking in the rear view to confirm my smiling face. "Just remembering some things."

"Care to share? I could use a laugh about now."

"I don't know if husband-wife humor would fancy you, but fine," I smiled. He made a face to semi-agree but let me speak uninterrupted. "I was thinking about my husband and how he would always argue with me when we travelled. The last three trips we took were with others or by train because we hated to argue. What made me laugh was how he'd act when we'd argue."

"He'd give in?" he asked. I snorted.

"I knew you'd have an interesting perspective before I said anything. He didn't 'give in,' but he always apologized. I'd usually get a treat surprise, such as candy or flowers. But he knew other ways too. When we were dating, he and I started arguing around Christmas time, and he had a group of carolers apologize to me in song."

"Smooth," Munch murmured. "I'd never think of that."

"You must've been at least a little romantic when you were married."

"Not really. Well, maybe when I was young and dumb, but not for the last few."

"I doubt that, but you are a Yankee," I grinned.

"I thought the war was over, and what does that have to do with anything?"

"I know the war is over, but it's true: Northerners do everything differently from us. I'm surprised you haven't commented about some of the things you've seen, such as the people giving you strange looks when you ask for toppings on your burger."

"I did notice that, but she was an odd character."

"I'll give you that one. But what else have you noticed?"

"Your drivers are nicer," he tried. I laughed.

"We have to drive through metro Atlanta to get where we're going, so you just keep that thought."

"Alright. Um...I got nothing."

"Nothing? What about that trooper treating me so fragile-like? He only left because he knew you were there to care for me, but he wasn't about to leave me when we were alone, whether I was commanding him or not. He did so many things, but he didn't ever know me."

"Where I'm from that's called flirting."

"Well here it's the norm, though I do agree," I whispered, lowering my speed for another small town.

"How much longer?" he asked, annoyed with the slow-downs.

"Not too much longer, but don't get my gas foot too antsy: we have another mountain road to travel before we find solid ground again." Munch sighed, making me grin. If it weren't for how horrible my day would soon be, I would be enjoying myself, I thought. He was a decent travel buddy, though his CD was a little grinding the fifth time around. I probably disturbed him in the night, but I noticed he was fairly close to me anyway, probably by habit. If he was a bachelor, sharing a bed with someone else must be really strange. I know it was odd to me and I didn't see myself as a bachelorette.

"Your phone is ringing," Munch called, tapping my arm. I answered it to hear Leslie on the other end.

"Put me on speaker. Your partner will want to hear this," she said quietly. I did. "Hi, detective, I'm Leslie Banks of the GBI, and I'm calling on business from your partner, Detective Benson. They apprehended the copycat rapist this morning in the process of raping the family member of Amanda Simon, the very first victim. But they need your evidence to really hold him down until DNA testing can be done, so I'm doing you a favor. What state are you in?" she asked.

"Georgia, near the second turn-off to Ellijay on 411 highway," I replied.

"As soon as you come into Ellijay, you're going to get a police escort. I think I remember where you'll come out at, so be ready. Once you get here, I'll have the things you need in my office. She mentioned pictures and personal diaries, so I'll get those boxes."

"The funeral pictures are in a different box than the other pictures. They'll be towards the front, and they're unopened."

"I'll remember that. And detective? They want this to be like an interview, so act like it's one when you get here. Anything you find depends on it, so we need to keep this formal."

"Thanks, Leslie," I whispered.

"No problem, and be careful on those mountain roads okay? It rained last night." I thanked her for the caution and hung up right before the turn-off. Munch began to tense a little as he saw the mountains to our left.

"Don't worry, the first turn off is worse," I said, but I don't think it had much of an effect on him. Munch seemed like he wanted to ask a question, so I mentioned his puzzled look.

"I'm just trying to figure out why the copycat would still be in New York if the real one is in Ohio. Fin told me about it last night, and it bothers me to hear about more New York cases."

"Look how long he stayed down here. The copycat cases from here happened after the first rapes in New York, which is why it seems like a constant string of rapes. The real guy actually took a week or more in between during those first weeks. Now he's getting ballzy, and I agree with something Leslie told me last night: this guy is probably going to wrap all the way around the US if we don't catch him."

We turned onto the mountain road, and though I took it cautiously, I still took it faster than usual. Munch was obviously terrified, especially when I went a little too fast in a turn and almost ran headfirst into an eighteen-wheeler. He recovered within a few minutes, but he still wasn't having a good day so far. At the end of the road, we could see the flashing lights. Two got in front of me and one pulled even further ahead, clearing out the early morning traffic and making our trip very easy. When we arrived at Leslie's office forty-five minutes later, we were immediately escorted inside. I was placed in an interrogation room with the pictures while Munch was given some details outside. He returned with the mug shot of the copycat rapist, and he helped me look through any older pictures to find anyone who might resemble the man.

"That's all of them," Leslie called into the room. She soon entered with the funeral pictures. She sat beside me and helped me open them. I was allowed to look through them first, but I had to hand them to Munch after a quick glance so that he could analyze them with a magnifying glass. I was numb, but soon the ordeal was over. I picked up another magnifying glass and started helping out Munch, but he was the first to pick out something strange in one of the pictures.

At the cemetery, a photograph showed a man standing far from the group, but he was watching intently. It needed enhancing, and Leslie quickly rushed it to their crime lab.

"Would he really go to his funeral?" I whispered.

"Arsonists watch their victims burn, so I imagine it's possible. Do you remember seeing him or either of the related victims at the funeral?"

"No. Besides, most of the time I was either crying or staring at the casket." "Here's a photo album of Sean's family. Would it have any pictures of the other victims?" Munch asked. I shrugged and flipped through them. A few pages in, and the New York victim appeared in an old picture of Sean.

"She's his ex-aunt," I whispered, looking at the names in the caption. "She must've remarried someone else."

"So she's not a blood relative?"

"No, which means neither is her cousin," I replied quietly. Leslie knocked on the glass, calling Munch out. I started packing up the photographs, being careful to keep them straight. I heard the door open and Munch came in to help me.

"She's calling Olivia now. Listen, you did very well today," he whispered. I nodded, closing the family album.

"What next?"

"Leslie wants to treat us to lunch once she gets back. She's going to keep the pictures in her office, so they'll be safe," Munch replied, putting them into a crate. I led him to her office and he put them behind her desk. She soon returned and grabbed her purse.

"I'll treat you both to our old favorite," Leslie smiled in the car. "I think we ordered in from this place every night we had to work overtime, and we'd still come back the next day for lunch. How's he handling the Southern food, or have you eaten much of it?"

"The fried chicken gave me some heartburn, but so does everything else," Munch replied. Leslie smiled.

"I'll let you know about what's spicy then to help you out. So, Monty, how's New York?"

"It's alright. I still don't have a permanent residence, but that'll fall into place sooner or later."

"What about Samantha and Ray?"

"They're expecting, so they're kicking me out whenever the baby's born. I called them before I left and asked them to just kick my things in a corner while I was gone. I imagine I'll be taking those things to a hotel if that baby comes while I'm here. I haven't had time to look for a place, let alone go see my choices."

"Some of that real estate blood from Sean's side must've worked its way into you, huh?" Leslie grinned. She looked back to Munch using the rear view. "Sean's dad was the leading realtor in Dallas, Georgia where he's from. That man is still selling houses, despite the recession. You gotta love a working man like that. He's about eighty isn't he?"

"Eighty-four," I replied. "He's only doing it now because of Sean," I murmured.

"Oh, hun," Leslie sighed, pulling into the restaurant. "Sounds like you should go check on them before you leave, if the boss will let you. He's ready to nail this guy and get his detectives back."

"We all are," Munch whispered, following us inside.

Once we were seated and had ordered our drinks, Leslie thankfully changed the subject to work details, knowing Munch would understand.

"We've had about forty cases hit us since you left, not counting the ones the FBI took from us with this creep. I swear, if I have to go to Valdosta again, I'll kill someone myself," Leslie groaned. "The southern-most chapter of the state lost their complex in the Americus tornado a few years ago, and we've had to pick up their slack ever since, at least with the Savanna goons aren't 'doing their job.' I get so sick of them sometimes, especially when they miss things."

"How many cases do they get?" I asked.

"Less than we do, but not by much. With all those coastal issues being pushed on them, which I thought was unconstitutional, they stay fairly busy. It's the office near your neck of the woods that should really pick up the slack. Most of the cases that would be theirs get picked up by either Columbus or some county guys, meaning they sit on their asses all day while we have to drive all the way to the swamp lands to run easy-to-solve cases," Leslie ranted. "And I know you're having to go out of your way for this case, but it needed that travel. Your guys were happy to get that fax from us showing that jerk in the background."

"I bet they were," Munch whispered, watching the waitress set down his and Leslie's large salads and my bowl of soup. He thanked her with a nod and dug in, making Leslie grin.

"So tell me about yourself, detective. How long you been where you are?"

"I've lost count. I've only got a few more years left before I can retire, and I'll probably do that if I can afford it. Alimony checks are bank breakers."

"How many you paying out to?"

"It used to be four, but one was committed last month, so her lawyer let me stop. Another one is engaged, so I'll be down to two soon."

"I would say you're a man of the ladies, but I guess you're not too successful on that front?"

"Oh, Leslie, don't pry," I hissed. She laughed and raised her lettuce-stuffed fork.

"He doesn't have to answer a single question. But he can if he wants. It's all in conversation, Monty."

"I don't mind saying I'm not successful, but don't tell that to Fin."

"Who's Fin?" Leslie asked.

"He's usually my partner, but since I'm training Monty, he's been with Detective Benson during all this. She lost her partner, so she needed someone anyway."

"I hate losing partners," Leslie grinned. "Monty, I swear you're irreplaceable. Just wait until she cooks something for y'all. She deep fried a turkey for our Thanksgiving party one year."

"With Sean's help, meaning I couldn't do that again," I added.

"Well, you're still good with other things. But I guess until you get a permanent residence, you'll be using hot plates to make those cute little cheese biscuits, hmm?"

"I'd consider it. Munch, do you even have get togethers like that up there? Leslie seems to forget that New York has bigger things, meaning it's harder to do things like that."

"Sometimes, but not in a while. We're usually busy trying to solve cases then or something else important," he replied. "But new traditions are fine."

Our food was delivered, scaring Munch a little due to the sheer amount of food, and for the price. But he ate without complaint, at least until after the meal when we were discussing baseball over pie and his heartburn kicked in. Leslie handed him an antacid while shoveling a huge peach piece into her mouth. Munch looked stuff, though Leslie would probably agree that he could use a little more food.

"I just wish our Braves would've done better this year. I would've loved to see the world series with Dave at Turner Field, since he's decided his job is far more important than weekends with me."

"Well hockey is just around the corner, so you can bribe him with box seats like you did last year."

"I did not bribe him. It's just that we usually got a four-seater instead of a two, for Sean's birthday. We didn't want to push you too hard."

"I understand that," I whispered. "But there's got to be something you two can do together other than argue."

"Oh we don't argue: we just don't talk. I'm considering moving to my sewing room if it keeps up."

"Leslie, you two need to talk. Take him somewhere cozy and quiet, and tell him how you feel. It worked with Sean, and I'm sure it'd work with Dave."

"Oh Sean doesn't count. You got so lucky with him, Monty. Your few arguments were almost comical in how long they lasted, and in how they resolved. One time, he called her out on a mistake and made her mad. To make up for it, he made all of us at the office help him deliver this huge card, I mean it wouldn't even fit in the door. He always did little cute things to apologize. Actually he did cute things period. It was almost sickening sometimes, though I do miss him giving you chocolate. She'd always give me the dark pieces because neither of them liked them," Leslie grinned to Munch, who I think was enjoying this banter between friends, even if he wasn't involved.

We returned back to Leslie's office only to receive a message from Cragen via voice mail.

"Until everything checks out, I need you to stay behind for the night. I tried to secure you a reservation, but all of the hotels in the area that are within budget are full, so you're on your own. I'll call back in the morning with an update."

With that, I used a spare office (my old one actually) to secure a reservation in a neighboring town (my old town). We had to share a room again, but at least there would be a couch in this one that pulled out, though it had magically disappeared by the time we arrived (with my care package, which Leslie still had in her office). Munch decided to watch some television while I took a stroll to the store next door. I purchased a few newspapers and another pack of gum before returning to the hotel. I sat in a chair near the bathroom to read the paper, which I soon passed to Munch. After he completed the crossword and I took back that section to do the Sudoku, it was time for dinner.

We went out for pizza, mainly since we had nowhere to eat it at the hotel. And since the restaurant did not have indoor seating, I drove him to a nearby park to eat.

"So this is your home town?" Munch asked. I shook my head, grabbing a piece of pizza and taking a bite.

"I moved here with Sean after we got married. His father had a nice house picked out for us, so we bought it. He let someone else sell it though. He couldn't handle it."

"Why'd you want to leave?" he asked. I sighed.

"For one, the memories of that house were eating me alive. Leslie had to come over so many nights to calm me down that she eventually helped me find a rental home near hers. I put the house on the market and cleared it out. It was so beautiful, and we had three offers in the first week. It went to the second one, a family of four with another on the way. And I lived in the rented house for almost a year before I decided to move to New York."

"But why? You and Leslie had a great time at lunch, and I know you wouldn't want to leave her for no good reason."

"She does take good care of me, but...my contract at work was almost up, and I didn't really want to stay. The monotony of murder really got to me, and then this jackass the I-rapist showed up. When we got word of the cases in New York, I wanted to go. I went when I was child and loved it, and I'd always liked working with the victims rather than the crime, which is what SVU is all about. So I applied for a position about a week before I was asked to assist. I guess I made a quick impression because I've secured the job so far, but I also made the move to quick. My friend is due soon, and I'll be out on the street when that happens."

"I've heard you mention that a few times now. If you can't find anything in time, you're welcome to stay with me. I don't have another bedroom for you, but my couch is pretty nice."

"That's all I need," I smiled, wiping sauce from my face and fingers. "What do you know about public storage in New York? I want to have my things and Sean's nearby, but I don't want to leave it just anywhere."

"You're asking a pessimist," he grinned. "I can support some things, but no large pieces of furniture. I'd leave the rest and use some off days to come get it rather than put it in New York or nearby, especially since those things are so dear to you."

My phone rang from a text. It was from Leslie, who had a quick update from New York. "Leslie says they've taken the copycat off our hands. The FBI still wants our assistance here and Cragen has asked us to stay two more days to accommodate this want. But it's off our hands for now."

"What a relief. Now if they could only catch the other prick," Munch spat. I raised my glass and we toasted to that. Sunset was coming fast, so we took the leftover pizza back with us (we had a mini-fridge but no table to eat it on) and rented some different movies on the way. We took the same sides of the bed, and we both remained awake to watch the comedy flick.

But soon sleepiness was calling so we turned it off and turned out the lights. I knew he wasn't asleep (his snoring was pretty bad...), so I shifted to lay on my back for a minute.

"Munch?" I asked. He let out a sound to tell me he was listening. "How bad did I disturb you last night?"

"I had to hold you down at one point, but it wasn't for long. You didn't bother me."

"I was just wondering. If it happens again tonight I'll move to the floor, okay?"

"Don't worry about it, Monty. Just...promise me you'll talk to someone when you get back to New York. You shouldn't let your grief go on like this. Reminiscing about the good times with friends isn't going to help you either."

"I know, and...I'll try to keep that promise to you, mostly because I think my work depends on it right now. I know this isn't how the job is all the time, so I'm looking forward to tackling cases with the group. You guys all seem really close."

"We've been working together a long time, so yeah," he replied, turning over. "Get some sleep now. We have a whole lot of nothing to do tomorrow."

I listened and quieted, but sleep still wouldn't come. Pictures of memories floated in front of my eyes, preventing them from closing.

_"I won't forget you, Sean, but I need to recover, for both our sakes,"_ I thought, turning over and trying to greet sleep once again.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

We ate breakfast with Leslie, who ranted about Dave throughout the meal. She also passed off a scrapbook she'd made over the past weekends.

"I was saving it for Sean's birthday, but I think you need it now. Munch, I'd let her look at it alone, 'kay? There's some cool places for you guys to hang out around here, including those events that are keeping the hotels full. And Monty? I hope you find some friends like me in New York. I know we're just a phone call away, but you'll need in-person contact with someone you can talk to, and I'm sure our cases will keep our schedules crazy."

"Thanks, Leslie," I smiled, accepting the scrapbook.

The conversation was quiet after that, and Leslie soon left us for work.

Munch grabbed some antacids before driving back to the hotel. He wanted to hit up some of the amenities there (I'm assuming the spa area for a massage), so I took the car to a hidden spot near where Sean and I once lived. I took the scrapbook with me, settling it on my open lap as I leaned against a tree. I opened the front area and saw a filmstrip from a photo booth, taken while Sean and I were dating. The title of the scrapbook was written in calligraphy, a skill Leslie learned at a scrapbooking retreat not long after I met her.

"The Greatest Couple of All Time," it read. I flipped the pages to see numerous photos, ticket stubs, and mementos that Sean and I were a part of during our six years together. Tears and laughter mixed as the pages kept turning until there were no more to turn.

The back cover had Sean's dates written in script, and a pressed white rose, probably from one of his arrangements, sat beside them. "You'll never be alone, Monty," was written below it, and a picture taken just months before his passing sat below the words: Sean holding up a sign saying "Happy Day." I'd had a rough week at work, and he left that picture for me at work to cheer me up.

It worked now too. I closed the book and let the tears fall, looking out into the clear woods with a sense of peace.

But soon I wanted to head back, so I packed up my things and returned to the hotel.

Something didn't feel right almost immediately. Luckily I had my gun with me, and I drew it when I got to our floor. The door was open, and I scanned the room quickly after seeing Munch on the floor.

"What happened?" I asked him. He was shot in the shoulder, but there was other blood there too.

"Someone came in. I hit him with a shot, but he still got away," Munch groaned, holding his shoulder.

I called the emergency services, and soon the place was like a madhouse, especially when Munch gave his description of the shooter: a black man fitting the I-rapist's main features.

After making the proper calls from the hotel, I went to the hospital where Munch was taken. A guard was outside his door, a precaution we always took in Georgia due to certain incidents.

Munch was resting when I came into the room, but he was still able to talk to me.

"I had just gotten back from a massage too when the guy kicked the door in. I had my gun on the nightstand and hit him, but not before he hit me. He ran out the door then before I could see where I hit him, but that's his blood on the floor, not mine."

"How's your injury?" I asked. He sighed.

"They're not removing the bullet because it's lodged in my shoulder. I'll have to carry this thing around forever apparently."

"Well at least you're okay. I called Cragen back in New York, and they're all worried. You need to call them later okay?"

He nodded and sighed heavily. I sat down in a chair near him and watched him make the call. It was ended quickly though thanks to investigators, who streamed in and out for the next two hours, making the doctors, nurses, and patient very upset.

Finally they stopped asking him questions and started searching for the guy. After another hour of no activity (aside from the release papers being drawn up), we finally received word that they found a man with a gunshot wound north of Atlanta in a free clinic. He was nearly dead when they found him, but it was the right guy, in both our case and the I-rapist's.

"I've got to see this for myself," Munch said to me after the call, accepting a shirt I'd brought him rather than his bloodstained one.

After going through the proper channels, Munch and I were led into a county morgue, the only option for the FBI agents in our state. The body was brought out from the freezer, and Munch nodded sternly at the sight of him: it was definitely the man. I felt many emotions well up in me: this was the man who killed my husband and soul mate, along with two of his family members. It was a little much for me, and Munch could see it.

"Let's go back to the hotel," he whispered.

Once there, we were given our things and sent elsewhere. The entire building was sealed off, so I called Leslie, who offered us her guest room for the night. I drove us to her house, and she immediately treated us to a Southern, home-cooked meal.

"Dave, this is Detective Munch," she introduced when Dave finally joined us from his den. Dave shook Munch's good hand over the table, then he started tearing into his meal without much of a word.

"Leslie, do we have any messages from New York?" I asked. She nodded, finishing her bite before responding.

"Your boss wants you two to stay until the investigation clears and the paperwork is done. He estimates it'll take about four days, so hopefully you can find something to do until then. Munch, do you need some help?" Leslie asked.

Munch's dominant arm was out of commission, and though his shirt fared well, the table in front of him was a different story. But Munch was a man of pride and shook off her attempt at help, choosing to start eating with his fingers instead.

"That's the best way to eat it anyway," I smiled, turning my attention back to Leslie.

"And your New York friends called here since that cell phone of yours must be dead by now. She had her baby this morning, and he'll be taking your things to the station tomorrow. Your boss called afterwards, so he's going to store it in his office for you."

"Was it a boy or a girl?" I asked.

"Girl, and they named her Liberty Grace as planned. I remembered them from social networking once he called. We went on a singles cruise back in the day, she and I did at least. Our men wouldn't dare get on one of those boats, either from pride or preservation of their manhood. Hey Dave, could you at least chew the food while the guests are here?" Leslie spat.

"She's not a guest: she's family."

"Dave!" Leslie hissed. He sighed, shifting his mashed potatoes around his plate like a child. "I need a vacation, but I'll be helping with that paperwork this week, so you're on your own. Since Munch here is a little out of commission, you two should hit up the festival in Macon. I hear the weather is going to be great, and most of it's free, so no more tapping into those delicate wallets."

"Sounds fun," I smiled.

"You know what I just realized: we need to celebrate!" Leslie gasped, running to the liquor cabinet and pulling out a bottle of her best wine. "The bastard that killed your husband and thirty others is dead. I'm drinking to that!"

"None for me. The pain medicine they gave me doesn't work well with alcohol," Munch said as Leslie tried to hand him a glass. She nodded in agreement and put the fourth one away. She poured the three and held up her own.

"May that bastard rot in Hell for the rest of eternity, and may his copier feel the pain of their victims every day he's in that prison," she said fiercely. We all nodded, toasting each other and taking a sip. "You should go tell Sean the good news tomorrow if Munch wants to rest. We had a ritual when the investigations were still going of telling him everything, and we definitely shouldn't stop now that the thing's about over."

"I need to go," I agreed.

"You know, you should probably take Munch with you. For one, he's probably wondering about the man he's heard so much about. And there's a pretty good chance you'll get notoriety as the hero who took him out, which I will toast to again," Leslie grinned, tapping glasses with Munch. "If only you two could stay until the paperwork was cleared. You'd get to see a lovely party, if Monty here would be willing to cook up some of her famous party foods."

"I would be, but the boss will need us back," I smiled. Leslie nodded, beginning to clear the plates.

Soon Dave was alone in his den, Leslie was called away on a case, and Munch and I were watching television in the living room. But he didn't stay long: the pain pills could only do so much, and sitting up was making him hurt even worse, so I helped him into bed (the poor guy could barely get dressed by himself, let alone fix the bed to his liking).

I decided to watch some more television, but I felt myself grow drowsy once Dave turned out everything for the night. I went back to the guest room and got dressed in the bathroom down the hall. I settled into the bed, careful not to disturb Munch (Leslie's couches were too small for either of us to be comfortable on, so we were stuck sharing a bed again).

As I tried to get to sleep, it finally hit me that Sean's killer was finally dealt with, dead by the gun of the man next to me. Though there was a price, there were surely some happy people out there tonight, especially the people who feared they were next. 


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

We learned the next morning that the I-rapist was working with his "copycat," which is why he made the flight to Atlanta in the first place. He apparently stalked Munch and me throughout that morning, so when Munch was alone, he targeted him. He planned on killing me as well, but more brutally. He probably planned on doing the same to Munch, but we'd never know.

After a quick breakfast in a restaurant up the street, the groggy Munch agreed to go with me to Sean's grave. I drove us there and led us to the grave, but Munch let me go there alone first.

The flowers were slightly wilted, but they were still beautiful. I touched them a little and let the tears fall as I shifted to sit Indian-style on top of the soft, white gravel. His mother picked it out, mainly because she wanted it for herself one day. But she and his father found different plots, giving theirs to Sean and me. I planned on using it, but not anytime soon.

"He's dead, Sean. I'm sure you'd know by now: I can just see the party going on in Heaven right now. There'd be a party here too if there wasn't so much paperwork to do. I know it's necessary as much as you do, but it'd be nice to kick back and show this guy how much he hurt us.

"My new co-worker killed him. He was shot too, but that's a simple price for what all of you had to endure. I'll call him over here in a minute, but I'm not ready. I'm not ready for a lot of things, like losing you, moving to New York, and starting a life without you, but...it's the hand I need to play out. Knowing your killer is dead is comforting, but helping other victims would comfort me more. And knowing you'll be in good hands back in Georgia comforts me too. I'm sorry I'm leaving, but we've always loved New York for various reasons.

"Oh, Sean, I can't quit crying," I whispered, wiping my tears on a tissue I knew to bring. "Sometimes I wonder if this pain will ever go away, if I'll ever quit crying every time I see something that reminds me of you. I know I can try, for both of our sakes, but don't hold your standards too high," I grinned, taking a deep breath as the wind picked up some. I signaled for Munch to come over, knowing I was as ready as I'd ever be.

"Sean, this is John Munch, the man you have to thank for taking out your killer," I said quietly. The breeze seemed to respond, kicking at the grass surrounding the grave. "We had his picture put on the stone because we wanted everyone to see how fun he was," I explained, gesturing to the picture of Sean making a funny face. I felt myself wanting to laugh at the memory of him acting so carefree at our last party together, one to celebrate the new year.

"Is he wearing a diaper?" Munch asked, making me lose it with laughter.

"He wanted to be the New Year's Baby, mainly since no one would claim it. He had the bib and bottle to go with it, but he was just being funny in this picture so he didn't have it with him."

"He sounds like a great guy," Munch whispered, carefully sitting on the bench behind me, which was dedicated to Sean's grandparents who were buried elsewhere.

"He was," I responded, standing to sit beside him. I pulled out the scrapbook Leslie made for us. "This is where I went off to yesterday," I whispered, pointing at a picture inside the book. "We'd go there a lot in the evenings and have picnics. A stream was nearby, so in the summer we'd go skinny dipping if it was early enough for no one to be around. We had a lot of little places like that around here. I guess this is a new one," I said quietly. The breeze lifted again as if to agree. Munch noticed it too.

We flipped through the scrapbook and I talked about the pictures. We laughed, and I cried, and the breeze continued to give us its thoughts, changing its pressure on our bodies to match our feelings.

When it was time to go, I plucked a picture from the book, one of two shadowed figures (Sean and myself) embracing on a beach. I rolled it into a small cylinder and stuck it into the vase beside his grave.

"Leslie will be by to see you more than I will, but I have you with me always," I said quietly.

The breeze responded full-forced, nearly knocking me down. The draft sent the flowers everywhere, and the picture landed against my chest. I clutched it and smiled.

"Fine, I'll keep it, but it was fine gesture I belief," I grinned, holding back tears as I followed Munch back to the car.

We spent the next days getting my things packed (he supervised from the car mostly, or rather napped in the back seat until I needed it for more, and then he demanded I take him back to our new motel room, which at least had twin beds). On Friday, we were called back, and I said a happy farewell to Leslie and to Georgia, a state I probably wouldn't see again until the holidays.

I drove the entire way back, letting Munch and his aching shoulder rest as much as possible. I knew the two of us had bonded, and that we were nowhere near finished in the process. I hoped I'd get to keep my position to keep up our friendship, but I knew I needed to get some help first. I'd already found a few possibilities online while we were in the last motel, but I'd need to finish the search in New York.

The city was finally beneath our wheels on Saturday afternoon, and we stopped by the office to pick up my things before heading back to his apartment.

Cragen was in his office when we got there, and after a quick chat about the time away, he asked Munch if he could talk to me alone. Munch agreed, using the time to check his messages at his desk. I sat down beside a pile of my own boxes and awaited my fate.

"The force decided to change your role. They received good word on your crime scene leadership, and they're making you our personal tech. Your office will be right beside mine, and you'll have three technicians below you. If everything works out, you might be called back into my unit one day. And Munch let me know you needed to work out some of your demons. None of us are going to pressure you, but I hope you'll get some help."

"I've already looked into some people, but I've also found another friend," I whispered. Cragen nodded, eyeing Munch through the glass.

"He let me know you'd be living with him until you found your own place, and that he wanted to keep mentoring you. He also thinks he could use your help as well, especially while that arm is out of commission. You might be handling some of his paperwork until he can type thirty-five words a minute again," Cragen laughed, opening the door and helping me outside.

"And Tyler? Here's the keys," Cragen smiled before we left the parking lot, handing me a set. I thanked him, smiling to Munch as I put them into my pocket and got into the driver's side of the car.

"I might not be an agent like you or the rest, but I think I'm going to like it here," I smiled. He nodded, giving me directions to his department while tapping the fingers of his good arm to the beat of the jazz on the radio. I did the same, and all felt well.

ibEnd/i/b 


End file.
